


Crowley's Safe Space

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Romance, Safe Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: When Crowley is upset or angry or scared and needs his husband's comfort, he conjures up a storm as a wordless way of telling his husband that he needs him....And this one's a doozy.





	Crowley's Safe Space

“No, no, no! Absolutely not! I have no idea why you would even entertain such a _ludicrous_ proposal!” Aziraphale slams a book down on a stack in haste, then pauses his rant to double check that he didn’t accidentally dislodge the binding.

“It’s one and done, angel,” Crowley says, snapping his fingers and miracling the antique book back to mint condition. “After that, they’ll never bother us again.”

“They don’t bother us _now_!”

“Yeah, but they’re planning on it, aren’t they?”

“After _ten years_?”

“They say they’ve got us figured out. How we slipped past getting executed? They’ve gone back to calling me a traitor, but they say they’re going to make _you_ pay!”

“And you believed them!?” Aziraphale walks over to his desk to fetch another book, shaking his head the entire way. “Crowley, they’re _demons_! They _lie_! That’s what demons do!”

“Whether they are or aren’t won’t matter because they’re coming back with Hellfire! They’re going to burn your bookshop to the ground with you in it, and this time, we don’t have the Antichrist to miracle everything back together!”

“I’ll set up protections. Blessings. I’ll hose the walls in Holy Water if I have to ...”

“_Great_. That’ll definitely keep _me_ out!”

“… then we’ll go to your place. Hide out there.”

“You don’t think they won’t look there the second they don’t find you _here_?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snaps, turning on his demon with fire in his eyes. “I _refuse_ to bend to the will of hooligans, whether they’re demons or not! I’ve been threatened before! I’m an angel! I can look after myself!”

“Not against this, all right?” Crowley closes the gap between them, itching to touch him, to hold him, to shake him, to make him see … but he keeps his distance. “We’re not talking about _one_ demon, Aziraphale! They’ve got your number. They’ve been watching us. They’ll wait us out, find a time when you’re alone. And then ...” His lower lip wobbles. It’s obvious to Aziraphale that there’s more he’s not telling, something worse than Hellfire they intend on unleashing “… they’ll come for you.”

“Then don’t you think it would be stupid to go off on some foolish caper and give them the chance? Maybe this is all a set-up! Did you ever think of that? Maybe they’re planning on getting you out of the way so that they can enact this plan, and you’re playing right into their hands!”

“I have to try,” Crowley says, nearly pleading. “I have to take that chance. Can’t you just … pop back up to Heaven for a spell till it’s over?”

“No!” Aziraphale’s eyes nearly dislodge from their sockets at the suggestion. “No, I can’t! That’s part of what leaving Heaven and Hell meant! We left! Maybe you can go back, but I can’t! Michael will have me in chains before I’m off the escalator!”

“I can put you outside of time! I’ve done it before.”

“That might be an even more insane idea than me going back to Heaven!”

“There has to be some place you can hide while I suss this out!”

“There’s _no place_, Crowley! There’s no place to go, so I’m going to stay right here!”

“Grrr!” Crowley throws his head back, hands in his hair, ready to pull it out at the roots. “You’re not _listening_! Why can’t you just listen to reason for once!?”

“Start talking reason and I’ll listen! Till then, I can’t give you my blessing to do this! We’ll think of something else! _Anything_ else!”

“There is _nothing elssse_!” Crowley growls, storming down the hallway to Aziraphale’s back room. “You’d know that if you were lissstening! If you weren’t ssso … ssso … damned _ssstubborn_!”

“That makes two of us then,” Aziraphale mutters, going back to his books. He stares at the cover of a particularly pricey novel and wonders if he shouldn’t start packing some of them away in his safe for the time being. Hellfire can probably incinerate a mortal made safe, so he’d need to bless it to be sure.

He tuts and sets the book aside. He refuses to have his life upheaved, to live in fear because of this silliness. It’s ridiculous to think that after all this time Hell would want Crowley back. He and Crowley have managed to stay low key, keep out of everyone’s hair. Why now? Why after all this time?

Possibly because, since Aziraphale has started working on the angelic projects he’s always wanted to work on and not the trivial things Gabriel drudged up for him, church attendance has started to go up in London and crime has gone down. Gang violence in particular is at an all-time low. Gabriel would never admit that it had anything to do with him, of course, but Aziraphale read all about it in the _Celestial Observer_. It even referred to him, covertly, as _Rogue Angel A_.

He kind of liked that. Wanted to get business cards printed up.

But that’s probably why Heaven doesn’t send him memos regarding frivolous miracles anymore, seeing as he’s become their _secret weapon_ on Earth.

Crowley, in contrast, has backed off on his demonic temptations. He still does the odd one or two, but not at the level that he used to. He’s also had a hand in thwarting several demons who have tried to move in on, what he sees as, his territory.

As far as their little area of the world is concerned, Hell isn’t getting the numbers it used to.

And apparently they’re getting desperate.

A crack of thunder sounds outside, loud and close – too close for comfort. Aziraphale looks out the window. The sky is blue and clear. Cloudless, even. It’s a picture perfect summer day. Nevertheless, people are running into shops and down the street, trying to avoid the sudden unseasonal rain. A bolt of lightning streaks overhead, turning the sky into a blinding flash of gold, followed by another clap of thunder so loud and so close, people start screaming. Car alarms go off.

Aziraphale sighs.

He flips the sign on his shop from _open_ to _closed_. He throws the locks and shuts the blinds.

Then he walks to the back room.

He finds his demon on the sofa. He’d expected him to be drinking, but he’s just sitting with his head in his hands; his long, fire-red hair fallen in front of his face. He sniffles and another clap of thunder sounds overhead like a cannon shot, powerful enough that it shakes the bookshop.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “Can you please stop? You’re scaring the mortals.”

“I don’t give a shit about them,” Crowley grumbles into his palms. “I’m trying to protect my husband.”

Aziraphale joins him on the sofa. He takes the chance that Crowley might scoot away, but he doesn’t. That, of course, was the purpose of the storm all along.

To draw Aziraphale in here.

Their first meeting in the Garden of Eden has always remained, in Crowley’s mind, a turning point. He counts Aziraphale shielding him from the rain as the first time anyone has ever performed a selfless act on his behalf. He doesn’t even consider his own creation a selfless act. Quite on the contrary. He was created for a purpose, and when that purposed changed, he wasn’t given any say in the matter.

The only being who has ever done Crowley a kindness with no concern for themselves has been Aziraphale.

But from that first day forward, storms have always reminded him of Aziraphale, no matter where he was, no matter how long it had been since they’d seen one another.

Aziraphale is Crowley’s safe space. Even now, when Crowley is frustrated with him, _furious_ with him, he needs him.

He needs his shelter from the storm.

So he created a storm to remind him.

“That’s funny,” the angel says, wrapping Crowley up in his snowy white wing and drawing him closer. “I’m doing the same thing.”

“I won’t let them get to you,” Crowley whispers, on the verge of frustrated, heartbroken tears. “I don’t care what they do to me. I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“Well, how about we take a page from your old contingency plan and leave for a little while? Together?”

“And go _where_?” Crowley asks sarcastically. “You said there was nowhere to go.”

“I seem to remember someone mentioning Alpha Centauri as a good place to hide. Lots of spare planets up there. No one would even notice us.”

“Are you … are you serious?” Crowley says with a giddy hiccup. “You … you mean it? You’d go?”

“Would you come with me?”

“Of course, I’m coming with you! What kind of stupid question is …?” A heavy sob cuts Crowley short. He buries his face in his angel’s chest, shaking arms wrapped around his torso, anchoring him to hope. The storm continues to rage outside as Crowley cries but Aziraphale doesn’t mention it – doesn’t mention the terrified populous running for cover as a tree down the block gets struck by lightning and goes up in flames, doesn’t mention the news trucks gathering down the street to record this phenomenon since the storm seems to be centered over Soho and Soho alone, doesn't mention the fish and the frogs that have begun to fall from the sky. He simply holds his demon, wraps him in his warmth and his love, and lets him cry until the rain dries up and the sun shines bright again.

“There, there,” Aziraphale says softly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll escape this strange weather as soon as possible. I promise. I hear Alpha Centauri is positively lovely this time of year.”


End file.
